The Winds of Fate by Michel, Elizabeth (18)

Paradise. The crew breathed it in shouted reverence. An island of grace and beauty magically soared from the ocean. From its shore rose rugged mountains of rich forests undulating in waves of verdant green. A veritable Eden. Claire stood awestruck, taking it all in, an impulse to be free. Paradise. There truly remained no other word for this creation of heaven on earth.

Sails lowered, the crew lined the bulwarks and rigging, impatient as stabled stallions. The Sea Scorpion glided smoothly through sparkling turquoise waters of a hidden bay where rhythmic sounds of gentle surf beat upon a crescent of golden sand.

“Stand clear of the starboard chain. Let go the starboard anchor.”

Several men dove into the water. Claire envied them, their quick graceful arcs, swimming eagerly to shore. She longed to join in their excitement, but waited until rowed to a dock.

Seagulls floated and basked above an excited group of people gathered to see the Black Devil’s return. Claire looked about, waiting for someone to tell her where to go. The comings and goings of pirates pushed her off the dock, carrying her onto the shore. She floundered, standing there all alone, a miserable outcast, everyone going on about their business, paying her no mind. She tried to drum up a cheerful thought, but even that eluded her. Cut off from everyone’s general excitement and news gathering, Claire pushed the toe of her shoe through the sand, drawing little circles. Cookie and Lily were several days behind on the Golden Gull. Devon had out sailed them.

She stood on the beach for as long as she could stand the hot sun. No one had made a move to tell her what to do or where to go. Not Devon, busy with his ship, letting loose an array of commands. The strain of the continuing silence between them wore on her frayed nerves. Frustrated, she moved down the beach to a patch of shade beneath a palm tree. Abu Ajir settled on a limb and cawed a cheerful greeting. The fact that the only welcome she’d received came from a crow filled her with bleakness.

“He’s an unusual fellow,” remarked a soft feminine voice.

Claire swung around to see the author of that voice. A pretty and very pregnant young woman with blond hair and cornflower blue eyes smiled.

“That he is,” Claire said. It was the first feminine company she’d had in a week and the only greeting entering the island.

“My name’s Jenny.” She bobbed a curtsy then directed her gaze to the men busy with their work on the ship. “It looks like they’ve forgotten you for the time being. Why don’t you come and visit with me?”

She looked so young and so nice that Claire could not refuse her hospitality. Beneath spreading boughs, Claire followed the barefoot girl up a sandy path, arriving at a little white hut hidden among a copse of trees. Inside the air was cooler. Jenny motioned for her to take a chair.

Claire removed her bonnet. The interior of the cottage was swept clean and polished. Shiny copper kettles hung from the ceiling, a broad table graced the center of the room and the delicious scent of stew simmered from a fireplace. Claire sighed.

Safe. Sound. Secure.

“My Wolf captains a ship for Captain Blackmon,” she volunteered proudly.

“I see,” said Claire, but she really didn’t see, and the confusion on her face must have showed because Jenny laughed.

“You’re probably wondering how I got here. My ship had been captured by pirate, Captain Silvers, my mistress ransomed and me-self only a servant with no means, saved to be bartered and sold. In a tavern in Tortuga, Captain Silvers fancied himself to deflower me in front of all the pirates. I was so ashamed.” Jenny halted.

Claire put her hand on top of Jenny’s to comfort her. It could have been that way for her with Le Trompeur if Devon had not rescued her.

“Silvers ordered his men to hold me down on a table. I cried for help. My eyes fell on a huge Titan of a man. Wolf they called him, although he looked like ten wolves put together. He saw my misery, and in my mind’s eye, I saw a decent man. He offered a great sum of money for me. But Captain Silvers would have none of it. Then Wolf cleared a path to get to me, picking up men throwing them across the room like a Goliath heaving whole trees, his strength nothing I had ever seen. I was terribly frightened for him for he was outnumbered. It took fifteen men to hold him down, and still he fought. I despaired he would die.

“Captain Blackmon swaggered in as calm as you please and ordered everyone to stop. His quick wit saved many. He challenged Captain Silvers to a game of cards, betting his ship for me. Silvers had his eye on the Sea Scorpion, consumed with the superstitious notion that the ship divined power. Captain Blackmon played to his greed. I prayed like I never had in my entire life. Captain Blackmon won my freedom. Silvers resented it. Captain Blackmon obliged him with further play. Silvers put up Paradise, his island for collateral. Wolf edged closer to me. He grabbed my hand. I knew I was his the moment he made contact.”

Claire swallowed. Devon had held her hand in the gaol. Everything was expressed in that hand of his.

“At the turn of the next round of cards, Silvers lost again. A war broke out. Swords clanged. Pistols fired. I don’t remember much except Captain Blackmon pressing his sword against so many, creating a barrier for us to escape. Wolf yanked me through the crowd, using that big club of a fist of his to whack everyone out of the way. The Wolf is my love and my heart. Captain Blackmon found a preacher to marry us. We are grateful to him for helping us.”

A little stab of jealousy touched Claire’s heart. Jenny had it all. A home. A man to love and care for her. A child soon to love. A family.

Bloodsmythe arrived. “It’s time to take you to your quarters.”

Claire smiled to Jenny, thanking her for her hospitality. She had no idea where she would be placed. She had seen her uncle and Sir Teakle escorted off the ship, ghoulish creatures, slimy and dirty from their captivity in the hold, but otherwise sound. Mumblings of pirates indicated they were to be housed in a jail of some sort. Had Devon assigned her the same such quarters?

Under shady palms, she followed Bloodsmythe. Never had she met a man owning an economy of words and chronic frown. They surfaced from dense foliage, and Claire blinked from the bright light of day. Her hand flew to her chest. A small town emerged. Little white huts of mortared coral blocks dotted both sides of a street with tended vegetable gardens tilled from rich volcanic soils. A blacksmith, a general store, and other tradesmen convened on the farther end of the settlement. A team of mules dragged a wagon of fresh cut lumber. Although primitive, the town was a miracle of enterprise carved out of nowhere.

Claire stood dumbfounded. Weren’t pirate enclaves given to corruption, filth, inhabited by drunk, greasy adventurers who gambled, womanized and fought? Gone were the anarchic undertakings and ruffian indiscipline that she had heard prevailed in Tortuga. The settlement stood dignified and prosperous. Hopeful. In all respects…a place with a future. Was the colony owed to the strict obedience and submission to their leader, Captain Blackmon?

They plunged into the forest on the opposite end of town and up another steep grade. Claire followed and never complained. What kind of prison had Devon arranged? Is this the face of bitter herbs, the laudanum of her spirit? Her hair fell lank. Her dress matted to her body. If only she could have a bath and something to eat. No probability of that. They headed so far away from town. Would she be locked up in remote isolation and forgotten? Was she considered that much of a danger?

Devon would take great delight in subjecting her to discomforts and terrors. If the last days of their voyage gave any indication, that was exactly what he intended. She straightened her shoulders, refusing to succumb to weakness or fatigue. A papaya thumped to the ground. Claire snatched it up. At least the sweet fruit would give her sustenance. She had no idea when and if she would be fed.

Claire tripped on a vine and yelped. She righted herself, picked up her skirts and ran to catch-up with her guide, the precious papaya clutched to her bosom. Sweat ran down her back. She was about to ask Bloodsmythe how much farther when they surfaced from the trees.

“This is where you will stay,” said Bloodsmythe.

Claire gasped.

Had she tumbled down a hole to a place where nothing was as it seemed? Claire jerked her head back. The house, a dazzling white where the afternoon sun touched it, posed majestic, the front side facing seaward. A colonnade of slender arches followed along the sides and front with a second floor terrace hosting an open row of French windows.

Inside, an elegant single staircase swept up to a beautiful wooden facade. As Claire walked across the gleaming mahogany floor her eyes caught a large crystal chandelier suspended from a wedge-wood ceiling, affecting scintillating rainbow patterns on the walls.

“Captain said for you to use whatever of his house you require,” Bloodsmythe said, breaking her out her trance.

His house. This mansion was a pirate’s house?

“When will Captain Blackmon return?” She desired to be forewarned.

Bloodsmythe shrugged. “He’s busy with careening and repairs. Until that’s done I doubt you’ll see him. The galley’s that way,” he jerked his head, “Up there,” he pointed, “is ye’re room.” He left before Claire could ask him anymore questions. She didn’t know which room he pointed, but saw her trunk placed in front of a door and assumed it was the one designated.

Claire called out, but no answer came. Exhausted, she wandered up to her bedchamber and cried out in glee, discovering a tub filled with water and a fresh cake of scented soap laid out for her use. She dragged her trunk inside the room, and closed the door. A key stuck out of the lock. On impulse, she turned the key, finding the barrier of a locked door satisfying. She rubbed the back of her neck. A locked door wouldn’t keep Devon out.

Deliriously smitten with the idea of immersing herself in a refreshing bath, Claire stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tub. She lathered her hair, rinsed it and wrapped it up in a towel then leaned back and soaked in gardenia scented water. She gazed about her room. There were pieces of artfully carved furniture enhanced with depth and detail, but the corner piece of the room spanned a massive fourposter bed with satin covers and a nest of downy soft pillows. Where had all the entrapments come from? Stolen, no doubt. Claire yawned, then rose, the heat and the nerves of the day, taking its toll. She dried off then retrieved a night-rail from her trunk, pulled back the covers and sank between soft linen sheets.

Claire awakened to the bright light of day, wondering how many hours she had slept. She dressed, eager to explore the rest of the house and grounds, but first she’d answer the rumblings in her stomach. She descended the stairs and walked into a huge room with a row of open windows. Drawn to the endless turquoise waters lost in a vast horizon of greater blue, Claire gazed, caught in wonder, the sea tumbling in white crescent curls over shallows and sandy flats before swelling over an outcrop, slamming at last, an arm of surf up into fingers of spray. So enamored with the power and beauty of the scenery, she omitted to see its sole occupant.

“Good morning, Madame Blackmon. We have pancakes this morn. Won’t you join me?” She moved to elude him, but Devon jumped from his chair and did not release his proprietary grasp on her arm until she was seated beside him. “Faith, a Captain’s invitation cannot be refused.”

“I suppose I have no choice,” Claire said warily. His sudden emergence and heavy-handedness gnawed at her confidence. So he decided to break his vow of silence. Claire made a study of the clean white table cloth and the heavy silver, doubtless seized as a prize.

“Especially when there is a sumptuous feast laid before us.”

Her stomach tumbled with hunger. Surreptitiously studying him, she nibbled on a piece of fruit. He was clean shaven and bathed and dressed with an elegance she had not seen since the night of the governor’s ball. Only better. His clothes were new, not cast-offs and tailored well to his lean frame. Yet it was with an elegance he wore them, owed to the man instead of the skills of the tailor. He caught her examination of him and he laughed. His amiability made her nervous. She favored their indisputable open conflict. He lifted his glass and leaned back with a careless grace that tugged at her senses. Her conclusion to leave as soon as possible hardened. If she stayed and let her unwilling attraction have its way, she’d be lost forever. He unfolded his napkin and smiled genteelly as if he were an aristocrat borne to wealth and privilege.

“Where have all the furnishings come from? This table, this silver fork,” she held up to him, “and the crystal goblet you hold in your hand?” She arched a knowing brow, her pointed remark meant to wound.

“Some inherited with the island, others commandeered and graciously given.”

“It’s a civilized way to say stolen,” she reprimanded him. Her sarcasm amused him. He merely smiled over the rim of his glass in a mock toast to her.

“I trust everything is to your satisfaction. After all, I am responsible for your well-being.” Devon’s hand brushed hers. She snatched it away, his touch burning up her arm.

“You are being unduly solicitous, Captain Blackmon. Rest assured I’ll hold you responsible for nothing. What I do with my life is my own affair. Let us consider the issue closed. I believe that in my captivity, time will weigh heavily on my hands.”

He shrugged. “You are free to roam the island as you wish.”

Why was he charming her? Of course, he would change his mind about letting her go. Claire sought to find a chink in his armor. “Where else would I go? I am but a prisoner.”

“There is a jail for your uncle and Sir Teakle. I trust your accommodations are more suitable?”

He let hang the difference in hospitality and the power he had over her. “The island, the town, this house,” she waved a hand, wanting to hear from his own lips. “How did you−”

“I won it in a turn of cards, since then I’ve made additions, and the island has prospered under my direction. I’ve a predilection for slave ships coming from England. I assure you, those unfortunate souls on board happily traded freedom on this remote isle instead of the living death afforded to them by colonial plantation owners. I have carpenters, blacksmiths, everything to make us self-sufficient. Fields cleared for farmers to grow sugarcane, mills built for lumber and sugar, making us independent for trade. A free man works ten times harder than a slave when it is for his own esteem and profit.”

Claire sat tongue-tied. Everything he had done, everything he had accomplished was the vision he had described to her in Jamaica. How could she even remotely find fault with that? He raised her hand and kissed it. “Claire−”

She licked her lips. How had she ever thought she could keep away from him? At a touch, at a look, she longed to lean to him, to touch, to taste, to kiss.

Devon laughed when she pulled her hand free. She was adept at keeping an impersonal level to the conversation. “I will show you the house.”

“Pardon me if I disagree.”

He rose and pulled her chair out for her. She could disagree till the sea dried up. Did he not see the unmistakable yearning in her eyes? Granted it had been brief. All the same it was definitely there. He had ordered everyone away and steered her to the other rooms, wanting to impress her with the size and grace of his holdings. He had lived to see her reaction. He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her, and was rewarded with the widening of her eyes and the slow, disbelieving shake of her head, pleased she momentarily forgot everything else, enabling them to slip into their old camaraderie. He wanted to court her.

She moved to inspect a piece of furniture. “You fit here, a castle for a pirate’s kingdom.” Her fingers ran along silky brocade. Damn, what he wouldn’t do to have those fingers run along his back. She’s going to London. He grunted at the thought.

She whirled and faced him, disconcerted to find him a half a pace behind her. He liked the pink that came to her cheeks. “There’s no need to go further,” she protested. “I’m sure, I can find my way around since you’re needed at your ship.”

He forced her to retreat until she was pressed against the armoire. Devon lifted a hand and placed it on the armoire, his arm grazed her hair. Gardenia. She used the fragrant soap from a Spanish vessel he’d taken. “I am not going to my ship just now.”

She looked up and he held her in his gaze. “There must be a multitude of repairs to attend−”

He placed his other hand on the opposite side, caging her within his arms. She licked her lips and he smiled. “I believe there are a number of things to attend, but right now, there is only one that I can think of.”

She inhaled. “You must remember yourself, Devon. Your promise to release me.”

“It’s hard to remember promises when I’m near you, Claire. I remember a promise made to me in a gaol, still unfulfilled.”

Could her cheeks flush any pinker? “That part of the bargain was fulfilled.”

“Then you are misinformed on certain elements of biology, my dear wife.”

“You cannot expect me to−”

His gaze rested on her mouth for the longest time before he abruptly straightened and dropped his arms. “I do.”

“I can’t accept−” she ducked beneath his arms and fled.

“Him,” he finished for her.

From the dock, Devon looked over his harbor. The bobbing anchor-lights of his fleet resembled a myriad of fluttering fireflies. What he hadn’t won in a card game, he’d won through hard work, albeit on the edge of civilization. The rest he built and he was proud of that fact.

He was not in a good mood.

That, of course, owed to his conversation with Claire in the early morning.

She could be yours.

But she had a better life ahead in England. A far cry from what he could offer.

If she stayed, what then? What had he to offer her save a pirate’s life−the shame of his sorry past and the uncertainty of his future? His men needed him. His honor and responsibility to those men were at stake. There stood no answer for his dilemma.

Bloodsmythe broke in on his musings. Devon braced for a lava flow of words. “I’ve been thinking−”

“That’s a bad habit you have, Bloodsmythe. You ought to give it up,” Devon said, knowing where the conversation was headed.

“Why don’t you go up to the house and give the lass the pleasure of ye’r company instead of charming us with your sour mood?”

“I’m busy, neither do I have the inclination.”

Bloodsmythe scoffed. “Oh, aye. I forgot. Ye’r not mortal, like the rest of us.”

“And I’ll be reminding you of minding your own business unless you want the feel of the cat’ on your back.”

“It’s that bad is it? You remind me of a wolf turned into a lapdog looking for crumbs.” Bloodsmythe studied him a long while in silence. “She’s altered your outlook, hasn’t she?”

“Let’s say she’s clarified it.”

“Clarified be damned. Ye’r sick with desire,” said Bloodsmythe.

“Dammit, Bloodsmythe. You attract drama like flies to a dog’s corpse.”

The point is−what are you going to do about her?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must do better than that if you do not want her to know how she affects you,” his friend warned, unsuccessful in hiding his amusement. “You are wound so tight−”

“Go to hell, Bloodsmythe.”

“Well for heaven’s sakes, make up your mind. You’ve always been mooning over the girl. I saw it that first day on the docks in Jamaica. Get it over with.”

“Your memory is superior to your ethics,” Devon growled.

“No doubt.” Bloodsmythe chuckled. “Nevertheless, it’s better than seein’ ye stomp around here like a bear with a thorn in its paw.”

The days came and went. Devon ignored her completely, making himself invisible. Claire explored the house and the island, becoming increasingly impressed with his accomplishments. The people proved industrious and happy. The island thrived, and frankly, Claire admitted, it was owed wholly to their leader.

He had their undying allegiance and respect. She began to understand his dilemma, to almost forgive the life he had chosen. By all accounts, he stood an honorable man. She didn’t know what triggered these changes in feelings inside her yet there emerged an admiration of his accomplishments despite all the hurdles life threw his way. Was there anything he couldn’t do? Nagging at the back of her mind remained a genuine frustration. Who was Devon? Pirate? Doctor? Philanderer? Benefactor? Thief? Savior?

Claire moved to the library, picked a book out. She supposed the entire collection was commandeered and graciously given as Devon put it. Abu Ajir chattered, perched on the desk. She fed him some crumbs she kept in her pocket. “You’re my only companion,” she sighed heavily. The crow croaked his regrets. Animated voices rang from the front of the house. Claire moved to the foyer.

“Lily!” She was so happy to see her cousin. Devon had out sailed the Golden Gull, by a week, making the journey to Paradise at an unprecedented speed. Claire stopped. Lily walked arm in arm with Robert Ames. Would Ames fault her for Jarvis’s brutal attack?

“Mr. Ames, I must tell you about−”

“Robert,” he said. “Lily has confided how Jarvis overheard and misconstrued your conversation the night the Spanish invaded Port Royale. How you tried to stop the whipping by attempting to get the governor to intervene at peril to your own life. You are very brave.”

“Thank you.” Claire gaped. If only Devon believed her. “So how have you been?” She addressed her cousin uncertainly.

“I couldn’t be more wonderful,” Lily said gazing up to Ames. The navigator returned that same loving look to her cousin with all the adoration of the world, caught on his face.

Resigned to the status of an interloper, and reeling from this new revelation, Claire backed away, clearing her throat. “I have to get a book.” Claire pivoted and returned to the library not knowing what to think. Through the door opening, she spied Robert taking Lily into his arms and with infinite tenderness, kissing her thoroughly. Claire turned, feeling a heat rise to the roots of her hair. Lily and Ames. Her cousin had fallen in love with him the first day she clapped eyes on him on Port Royale’s dock. And then they had worked together in the hospital during the plague. Why was she surprised? They had sailed on the Golden Gull for two weeks. Wasn’t that a heady formula for romance to blossom? Sunlight poured into the room. Claire stood in silence swallowed in shadow.

Lily bid her goodbyes to Ames. The front door snapped shut.

“Claire!” Lily entered the library and engulfed her in a hug. “I’ve so much to tell you.” Lily sounded so fresh and animated, beaming with happiness. Overnight, she had transformed. Gone was the tight bun, her thick dark hair fell in long graceful curves over her shoulders. Even her dress, normally austere, fell femininely appealing and her violet eyes glowed.

“Where are your glasses, Lily?” She had never seen her cousin without them.

Lily sat on the sofa and Claire joined her. “With Robert escorting me, I don’t need them. He says I have beautiful eyes and wants to see them.” Lily smiled, a slight pink touched her cheeks as she retrieved her glasses from her pocket and put them back on. “Robert has asked me to be his wife. But first he has to ask Captain Blackmon permission to sail out and obtain a minister. Claire, I am so unbelievably happy.”

“But do you think it is wise to marry a pirate? He is a man with no future.”

Lily tapped a finger on the book on Claire’s lap. “Robert was forced into circumstances beyond his control. He is a decent man. He fought for what he believed in, and to tell you the truth, if I were a man, I would have done so too. Oh Claire. Love is a gift with a cost. There is never an easy way. The risk is worth taking.”

Claire digested Lily’s unwavering devotion. “Lily, you are always the rational one. What if he is hunted down and hanged?”

“I’ll take that risk.” Lily looked at her. “What’s wrong, Claire? You’re not fooling me. Is Captain Blackmon treating you badly?”

Under Lily’s intense analytical stare, Claire wavered, unable to conceal her inner turmoil. “No-not at all.” He treated her with indifference.

Lily studied her through her spectacles for a minute longer. “Robert told me many things about Captain Blackmon. They are very close. Although Captain Blackmon never spoke, Ames had a feel for what thoughts he had. He had great difficulty turning to piracy. Resisted it like the plague.”

“I fail to see why that is important,” Claire sniffed.

“It is important. Robert told me Devon despaired, the scorn he would receive from you.”

“From me? What difference would that make?”

“With every action he committed, he thought of you. The desperate trade he embarked was his only recourse. Robert told me how awful it was for them once they escaped Jamaica. They were adrift, blundering about this pestilent archipelago, courting disaster. At any moment, they could have crashed upon a reef, been swept away in a storm, but what was worse was when the food stores depleted to nothing, and the men starved for days. No one had the skills to guide them. Robert, their navigator, so abused by Jarvis, hovered between life and death. It was Captain Blackmon’s sheer strength of will that offered hope for the men when their hour lay most grim.”

Claire inhaled, picturing the disaster they teetered on.

“As Captain Smith told us, they were picked up by Spanish pirates, enslaved and suffered cruelly. It was Devon’s pretty speech entreating them to use his surgeon’s skills. The Spanish conceded. He dropped a drug into potions of their rum, drugging the crew then released his men and threw the Spaniards into the hold. Blessedly, Robert dropped his fever and recovered enough to help them gain a sense of where they were. With no country to call home, and escaped slaves, the men had no other choice but to embrace piracy. They demanded and with unanimous approval, voted Devon as their leader, swearing their complete loyalty to him. Devon ended yielding to pressure, abandoning himself to the stream of destiny. But I can tell you, his decision, albeit reluctant, stood the only way for them to survive.”

“Who am I to judge?”

Lily’s head snapped up. “Your life has been chaotic and you have provided for Cookie and me at sacrifice to yourself. It is time for you to be happy, Claire. It is all right to change your thinking−to risk love.” Lily clasped Claire’s hand and squeezed. “I am not budging until you tell me what is wrong.”

“He is not the man I knew on Jamaica.” Claire rose barely keeping a hold on things. “Let me show you to a room, Lily.”

“But I’m not staying here.”

Claire pivoted, her voice floundering. “Not staying here? Then where?”

Lily flushed. “You should know that Bloodsmythe and Cookie−” Lily dropped another thunderbolt. Claire swallowed. Emotions swirled. Jealousy? Desertion? Until now, she had assumed Cookie and Lily would be a permanent fixture in her life and return to London with her. The child in Claire selfishly regarded them as her own, but the adult woman in her understood to let them go. Devon had promised to put her in a port where she could travel to England. Her chest hitched. To be entirely alone? The grim reality slammed into her full force. Cookie and Lily would not be a part of her future. Everyone made choices. Claire chose to go to England. She would not hold them accountable to her decision to accompany her. She loved them too much.

Claire’s restless nature took her from the confines of the house. With a lot to mull over, she struck out through tropical jungle, following a trail and not knowing what she would encounter. The forest was very dark with little filtered light coming to the small shrubs on the ground. Her eyes followed thick strangler vines, rising upward through an over-canopy of wide trees. When she cleared the top of a ridge, her breath caught and she halted, gripped in complete awe.

Her mouth dropped open, standing atop the most enviable spot in the world with beauty beyond her wildest imagination. Hidden in this forest enclave, a waterfall tumbled down a fern softened cliff into a deep lagoon, paired by a sister waterfall farther up. Sun poured into the glade, affecting a rainbow with butterflies flitting everywhere to a melodic chorus of birds, and making her spirits soar. Beneath a blue sky, a rug of yellow, scarlet and orange flowers sparkled with the dew of morning. She filled her lungs with the fragrance and warm tropical air.

This was virgin territory, this place of magic, a world separate from the rest of the world. Had anyone ever tread here? It was so enthralling that her heart caught at the sight of it. Claire claimed it, and in her euphoria, eagerly removed her shoes then dress, stripping down to her chemise. She dove into the cool water, surfaced and laughed like a young child. Abu Ajir swooped over her and she splashed at him. “You’re spying on me, you feathered rascal.”

Floating on her back and staring at the sky, she thought of James from the Jamaican orphanage. He was like Devon, so exuberant, so resilient, as wild and natural as the gulls flying over the ocean. Claire clung to the hope of someday having her own child. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted that. Deep down, she knew she’d be good at being a mother. That hope swept further and further away. Her fantasies revolved around Devon. What he did to her. How he made her feel. Her stomach tightened, his hands sliding down her back. Her hand flew to her breast.

She must stop this madness. She must guard her heart. To bring Devon’s child into the world would be disastrous. He remained a wanted man, more-so as his reputation grew, and the Crowns of Europe amassed a high reward for his capture. Claire closed her eyes, refusing to imagine the horrible execution awaiting him. Devon would be hunted down. In no way would she allow her child to experience the crushing weight of abandonment that weighed heavily on her shoulders. To even entertain the remotest possibility of filling that void inside her with Devon would be a journey down a landscape of illusion. How would she explain to her child, his father was hung in a gibbet for the crows to feast?

After her swim, she visited her new friend, Jenny, her pregnancy progressed with no sign of labor. The poor girl had stubbed her toe and sat to nurse the pain. Claire hauled water and did other chores, insisting Jenny rest.

She walked back to Devon’s house. The trade-winds shifted, veering a towering dark mass from the leeward side of the island, shadowing her. Claire glanced at the ominous cloud, shrugging her indifference to a brewing inner turmoil swirling through her conscious mind. The tortured thoughts she tried so hard to repress always came to the same conclusion−Devon.

Another ship had anchored in the harbor, but Claire was too consumed with her thoughts to give it much notice. She sighed. When Devon finished with repairs, she’d insist on him taking her to another port.

“Claire!” Lily burst from behind.

Claire whirled, her cousin reduced to shambles, her hair disordered, and her parchment pale face brightened with tears in her terrified eyes. “What happened?”

Lily floundered in misery. “Robert went to Captain Blackmon and asked him if he could sail out to get a minister. Captain Blackmon said no and outright forbade our marriage. I was to go to England with you, and it would be settled in a fortnight.”

Claire reeled from his flat out rejection. “Why would Devon refuse you?”

“I don’t know. He gave no reason at all. Robert is as devastated as me. However he is loyal to Captain Blackmon and will not go against his command. I found someone to love, and he loves me, and we are to be ripped apart and left heartbroken,” Lily wailed and clung to Claire.

Claire’s temper soared. “Of all the unfair, unprincipled, callous−I will take care of this. Now dry your eyes, and don’t give it another thought. This will be resolved immediately.”

Claire dug her heels into the path, intending to hunt Devon down even if it took her to the far corners of the earth. Upon entering the house, Devon’s voice rumbled in the library, apparently he was having a meeting with one of his crew. A goliath with a black patch over his eye guarded the library door. She looked up until her neck had a crick in it. Was this Jenny’s husband, the famed Wolf? His arms were crossed in front of him in a clear statement that suggested no one was allowed to enter. If only she had the strength of ten men to toss him out of the way. She frowned. Even that idea was doubtful. How would she ever get around him?

“Mr. Wolf, I just visited your wife. She is in pain,” Claire bit her lip, altering the facts that implied his wife was in labor never revealing she had a stubbed toe. The giant blinked and flew out the door.

Without knocking, she sailed into the library, Devon in her sights, and oblivious to a visitor seated in a high back chair.

“Of all the low, despicable wretched decisions you have made, this has got to be the worst. Why have you denied Lily and Robert to marry?”

“That is an affair I will not discuss now.” His tone incensed her further.

Claire plunked herself in front of his desk. “When will his lordship, the mighty Black Devil condescend to discuss this affair?”

“I am busy and will address it at my convenience.”

“Convenience! You arrogant, proud, preening peacock. We will discuss−” Devon’s attention stayed focused behind her. Hairs on Claire’s neck stood up.

“Captain Blackmon. She is a beauty in a fit of rage. How could I forget? I see you have kept her captive. Not for ransom? Perhaps a liaison?”

That voice. She whirled. “Captain Le Trompeur. What are you doing here?”

“You are not happy to see me?” He sat suavely in his chair, his lewd gaze traveled over her face and body.

Claire’s anger evaporated. A cold knot formed in her stomach. Did the air change? She couldn’t breathe. She glanced uncertainly at Devon, his face a mask of stone. The muscles on his forearm hardened beneath his sleeve. A chill black silence enveloped the room. An undercurrent lay heavy and palpable between the two men.

Le Trompeur broke the silence. “I have come on a mission of diplomacy. To end our enmity and strike our partnership anew. I paid my half of the Santa Luga in which I was absently remiss. In good faith, I begged pardon of Captain Blackmon.” He flashed a lecherous smile.

She stiffened. “I will return later, Devon-I mean Captain Blackmon.” Too late, her mistake. Her familiarity with Devon picked up by Le Trompeur. His ferret eyes missed nothing.

“No, Mademoiselle. I insist you stay and charm us with your presence.” He leaped from his chair, his movements like the lithe strength of a panther. He took her hand, pressing it to his lips. “It is too bad Mademoiselle, we did not sail together. Perhaps another time?”

Claire jerked her hand away and shuddered, the blackness of his eyes masked the souls of a hundred demons. “That is doubtful, sir.”

“Perhaps in the future we will spend some time together, Mademoiselle?” He laughed his challenge. A trapdoor opened in the floor of her stomach.

Devon stepped between them. “That will be all, Le Trompeur. The lady will be put at an English port to sail to England.” They exchanged polite smiles. “Women make you stupid, Le Trompeur, a flaw in your nature.”

“Well met, my friend. With the Captain’s permission, I beg to do repairs for four weeks.”

“Ten days is sufficient,” growled Devon with a chilled comportment that excluded all argument.

“May I be sunk in everlasting hell if I have not departed by then,” Le Trompeur made a study of his nails.

“Make haste with your repairs and one final word of caution.” Devon swept his hand to the door. “Do not lay a hand on anything that is mine, otherwise your visit will precipitate your departure to the nether world. My sword will target a more vital organ the next time.”

Beneath a flash of hostility, Le Trompeur vented incredulity, daring a flitting glance up and down Claire. “By the saints, whatever do you mean? It’s as if I took Holy Orders. I assure you, Captain Blackmon, my thinking is clear and your message well read.” Le Trompeur bowed with mild amusement.

Abu Ajir flew in the window and perched on Devon’s shoulder, turned his head and eyed Le Trompeur with its cold black eyes. The Frenchman’s amusement vanished. He stepped back, caught Claire staring then straightened abruptly. Had she seen a flash of fear in the Frenchman’s eyes? Was he superstitious? He strode from the room with a cavalier, “Au revoir.”

Devon raked his hands through his hair. “Now what was so important that it couldn’t have waited?” He dropped into his chair, propped his feet upon his desk. Most women would have cowered in front of the French pirate.

“Lily and Robert−you’ve made a grievous error concerning their future.”

He stared at her over his steepled fingers. Instead of her being concerned of Le Trompeur’s threats, she worried over an entirely different matter. “Sit down, Claire,” he commanded. “Do you understand the damage you’ve done?” He sighed through his teeth. Removing himself from her proximity, sleeping on his ship at night had not released that howling beast that had taken up residence in his head.

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Le Trompeur has seen you here. I don’t trust him. He’s dangerous.

“That’s not the matter I wish to address. My concern is for Lily and Robert. How can you not allow them to marry? Your command defies any rational thought and is cruel. I cannot believe you made such an unconscionable decision.”

Hell.

He folded his arms. “So what do you want me to do about it?”

“Do about it? I cannot believe you made such a dreadful decision. They are made for each other. How could you tear them apart?”

Reason. His mind floundered. He must focus on reason. It did no good to think about Claire. He’d been a fool to hope. She had one path and he had another.

“You’re going back to England where you belong. Lily is going with you. I will not have you living a life alone. End of discussion.” He attempted to do what was honorable. Some sense of pity for her stole into his soul as he remembered her painful story. He remembered every word and deed about her heartless bastard of an uncle.

“If you have any sense of humanity, please allow them to marry. Don’t let them be torn apart, to abandon all hope, to live sad and lonely lives when they need to be together.”

Her thick lashes were spiky with tears. Did she realize she talked of Devon and herself?

“Before I consider your wish regarding Lily and Robert, you must agree to a concession.”

Claire stiffened at his suggestion. Her lovely face mirrored the suspicious direction of her thinking. The promise. A long forgotten memory flickered across Devon’s mind as he gazed at her. “We’ve come a long way for our parting to not end on friendly terms.”

“Of course. What is the concession you demand?” she said guardedly.

“If you had all the money in the world,” Devon gauged her, “What would you wish for?”

Claire walked to the window and gazed out to the sea. “At one time, I desired a modest home in the city, a place with my children to love and a husband to−all very simple. But now−” She sent him a rueful smile, her voice tinged with sadness. “That’s all behind me.”

She didn’t finish, but Devon filled in the blanks. He knew in that instant Claire would never marry again. In a roundabout way, she was informing him exactly of that notion. Despite her denying their marital status, her incredible moral nature would prevent her from committing such a sin and dishonoring the vows she had spoken to him.

“Above all,” she added, “A place for my family that was Safe. Sound. Secure.”

“We all have those dreams, Claire,” Devon interrupted.

Claire nodded her head, the wistful yearning heard in her soft voice. “I guess the reality is, I’ll be getting my freedom.”

Devon frowned, thinking of her bittersweet words. She’d convinced herself that a future between them was impossible. “Have you given any thought on how a single woman with very little means will survive?”

Claire drew a long steadying breath, “I’ll make do. I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again. What was the concession you required?”

Devon rose and walked to her side. A constriction in his chest kept his arms at his sides when in actuality, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms. Her huge eyes were shining and she swiped at a single tear. He produced a handkerchief and made her blow her nose. She got hold of her sorrow, but barely.

“My concession is for you to promise me you’ll contact my solicitor in England. He was an English captive I freed on a Spanish ship and one I’ve developed a business relationship that I can trust. I’ll have an account set up for you to withdraw funds in London. You’ll want for nothing. I guarantee, your wish to live independently and undisturbed will be fulfilled.” He didn’t inform her she would be able to live in the grandest style, wanting for nothing.

“Devon, I cannot take any money from you,” Claire protested.

Reaching out, he tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Claire,” he said with quiet firmness, “I will not give into your denial. Either you accept my terms or Lily goes back to London with you.”

“Somehow I feel you will allow Lily and Robert to marry despite what I commit too.”

His jaw hardened with icy resolve. She looked so small and helpless. But she wasn’t. She never had been. She didn’t need him. She was an independent woman. “Do you really want to take that risk?”

He held her gaze.

“Wolf!”

The Colossus stomped into the room. Sweat poured off of him. “Captain?”

“You look like you’ve run a race.” Had Wolf abandoned his post? He held no inclination to pursue the matter further or to consider why the giant crossed his arms and glared with his one eye at Claire. “I want you to sail out immediately and find out what Le Trompeur is up to−and−to fetch a parson.” The tremulous smile Claire bestowed on him said it all. Relief. Joy. Happiness. If only he could be the true beneficiary of that smile.

“I’ll miss you,” he said. It would be impossible to forget her.

Claire burst into tears. She fell automatically into his embrace, sobbing.

“There now, Claire, things will be fine. You’ve a bright future ahead.” And because he didn’t know what else to do to cope with the loss of the most precious thing in his life, Devon closed his eyes and held her, soothing away her pain, the wound in his soul incurable. He suffered the greatest sacrifice of his life, letting her go.

From a hectic day, readying the Sea Scorpion for its next voyage, Devon swung around and entered through the back to his library, a relief to be alone for a moment. Lily was seated with her arms folded across her chest. So much for solitude.

“If you don’t mind, I’ve work to catch up on.” His remark wrought a rude form of dismissal, but he didn’t care, impatient to be alone.

“I’m not leaving,” said Lily.

For an endless moment their gazes locked as they assessed one another. “Faith now, you dare to disrespect a command?” He sat taken aback by Claire’s diminutive cousin. He liked Lily, but this stubborn side, he’d not seen before. Devon poured himself a drink.

“You do not appear to be the type of man who would let the woman he loves go. Please indicate if my notion of you rings true.”

Devon threw back the entire contents of his glass then confirmed her accurate conclusion with a slight, mocking inclination of his head. “It’s my business you’re airing.”

Lily blinked owl eyes, her disapproval conveyed through her spectacles. “Not entirely. Not where my cousin, Claire is concerned.”

“I assume Robert knows you’re here.”

“Of course, I told him I came here to thank you for allowing us to marry.” She put up her hand. “Claire informed me. What’s more, I would always be honest with my husband. And I would expect nothing less of him.” She let that comment snake over and strangle him for a while. His earlier assumptions on Claire’s guileless cousin vanished, and his opinion of Lily climbed another notch. She was craftier than he presumed.

“You should know, Claire never betrayed you. She was in a terrible tempest the night of your escape because she had seen you in a compromised position with Anne Jensen.” Lily looked down her nose disapprovingly then went on to tell him what had happened that night when Jarvis overheard their conversation. “Claire has discovered a deed that indicates she may own the plantation in Jamaica. She is traveling to England to fight for what she feels is hers, and what she believes her father would have wanted her to do. In a way, her mission washes away her muddled sense of abandonment from when her parents died and left her behind. Claire is complex and has made many sacrifices. At stake, she would prefer an unlived life, of unreached potential and unfulfilled dreams. It lay there etched in an indelible impression, in a primitive part of her mind that reacts as self-preservation. Safe. Sound. Secure.”

Vulnerable against the world, and all of what she endured, was under the guise of independence. She panicked whenever he got too close, putting up impenetrable barriers. Her sense of abandonment was a fire breathing dragon that struck at the core of her being, leaving her wounded and fearful of attachment. Safe. Sound. Secure. She had uttered those very words to him. Those were the things Claire was looking for and he’d do his damnedest to make her believe he’d make that happen. Devon raked his fingers through his hair.

“You better take charge and communicate your feelings with Claire.” Lily eyed him like a pelican ready to snap. “She is my cousin and my dearest friend. I do not want to see her hurt.”

“I am a man who does not need to justify myself. But I will make allowances just this once. I assure you, Lily, I have Claire’s best interests paramount to everything else. My intentions to her are honorable.”

Lily nodded. “I know.”

Devon walked to the doors and let out a shrill whistle. “Thank you, Lily. This clarifies many questions.” Abu Ajir cawed from a distance.

“Where is Claire?” Lily asked.

“I have the eyes and ears of my island. I always know where Claire is.” This time he surprised the unflappable Lily.

“I would expect nothing less.”

Devon laughed. “Faith, you could box the ears of the best of the King’s courtiers.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Lily smiled.

“It wasn’t meant as a compliment. I despair for Robert. He will have his hands full with you.”

Devon did not have far to look. Abu Ajir led the way. He had trained the crow to watch over Claire. It had been an easy feat since she fed and cooed over the bird, treating him like a child to the point he felt the bird had more of an attachment to Claire than himself.

His lagoon. There in radiant golden light of the mid-day sun stood a breathtaking siren from the sea with all the power that beauty held and for the life of him, he could not move. Once he thought her beautiful. At this moment, she was more than beautiful, she was the dazzling sun itself. There was color to her face, a flush that lent her skin a radiant glow. Her chestnut hair was knotted atop her head with a dozen or so dampened tendrils.

Devon moved closer. Her brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She pulled the pins from her hair, giving Devon an unobstructed view of her long, pale throat, her creamy shoulders, and firm jutting breasts, beneath a thin linen shift.

She unleashed every primitive instinct in him, instincts honed from generations of Irish warriors who took what they wanted. Devon could stand no more. He dove from the top of the cliff into the pool below, surfacing opposite her. She crossed her arms in front of her and started to move away. He laid a hand on her shoulder, an implied command to remain.

They stood in silence for a while, half a lifetime in the space between them.

“You are lovely. My wife.”

“My name is Claire,” she whispered, hinting the barest of protests. He knew her name well. Hadn’t he spoken it over miles and miles of sea a thousand times? Hadn’t it been the mantra that kept him going these years past?

With a long drawn out breath Claire said, “I never betrayed you, Devon.”

“I know. Lily told me. I’ve made a mistake.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “Yet you believed Lily and not me?”

“Did you realize how much you assumed my actions that day, Claire? How could you even think I could leave your bed and entertain the likes of Anne Jensen? She’d been dogging me since the day I set foot on Jamaica. She just happened to corner me at the exact time you happened by.”

She nodded her head, mulling over the possibility.

“It’s time to end this Claire. I know of the regrettable loss of your parents. I know of a young girl left to grapple alone in the worst part of the world. I know of a young girl who bravely sacrificed herself to care for those she loved. I understand your feelings of abandonment. I would never abandon you.”

Claire hesitated. She didn’t know what to believe. Her heart hammered, and her head hurt. She wanted to believe him−to desperately believe him. She willed the tears gathering in her eyes to go away.

“Don’t−” he whispered.

“I won’t.” She willed herself to stay upright, but still the tears came.

He stayed there standing feet away from her in the water. Drops glistening down his shoulders, down his breastbone. He could haul her up into his arms if he wanted−he could do anything, he was that powerful. He knew it. She knew it. But she saw something inside him fighting the awful force straining inside him.

Again, he beckoned her with his hand.

Claire stared at him, trying to clear her brain, sensing that he wasn’t meaning just now, but something more, something deeper, and something more profound. She didn’t know, couldn’t be certain of anything other than the searing pain in her heart and her raw fear of the towering power in this man, a potency he tried hard to keep leashed.

He took a step closer. “You have to come half-way, Claire. It’s all in your power. Take my hand. Do it. Come to me.”

She gazed up at him, the roar of the waterfall drumming in her ears. She shivered from the chill of the mountain water. She knew this would be her last chance. Devon was a proud man. He would not take any more of her rejections. Claire raised her hand, water dripping from her trembling fingers, she placed her hand in his. The strength in those fingers that told everything there was to know of this man. He was warm. God he was warm. And strong. Claire felt his fingers curl tight around hers.

“There are times in our lives when we have to take risks. We never know when our time is up. I can promise you this, Claire. I love you. I love you with my whole heart and soul. You are courageous beyond anything, and I respect you for that. But I can’t be whole, Claire without you. This past year has torn me apart, not knowing if I’d ever lay eyes on you again. When a piece of me said to give up hope, my soul whispered, Give it one more time.”

And then, she was in his arms. He’d drawn her up to him, holding her tight in his embrace, shielding her with his body against the world, against all the torments, fears and loneliness.

Cocooned within Devon’s arms, Claire closed her eyes and drank it all in−the man, the pirate, the millions of ways he moved her. He lifted her ever so gently and carried her to shore reverently laying her on soft green mosses. Claire buried her face against his throat, so conscious of where his warm flesh touched hers.

Devon caressed Claire’s arm and turned her face to him, making her look into his eyes to see the import of his words. “When Le Trompeur had you in his grasp, I went crazy. Don’t you see how the fates have brought us together, that life itself is little more than a series of coincidences, coincidences at work bringing about events that the merest chance might have averted, the very tool used by fate to shape our destiny. We were meant to be together Claire. We can no more stop it than the sun rises. I love you wholly and unconditionally. And I will never ever stop loving you, of this I promise.”

Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I do not want to love you. I cannot love you. You are a pirate, a wanted man. I want a name for my children.” She shook her head, and began to sob. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, Devon. I cannot lose you,” she cried brokenly.

Devon reached out and gently wiped away the tears as they fell. “Claire, love,” he whispered tenderly. “The longest journey is taken a step at a time. My love can wait, but it will neither yield nor change.”

Claire lost her breath in that instance and drew him down to her, his kiss slow, thoughtful, his tongue tracing the soft fullness of her lips, leaving her mouth burning with fire. He left her, and she groaned. He shirked out of his pants and lay beside her, the hard press of his manhood, heavy, forceful and throbbing against her hip making her pulses leap. He reached for the strap of her shift and slowly drew it down her shoulder. Claire shivered. Gently his hand outlined the circle of her breast, holding it firm, his head bent, his tongue caressed her sensitive swollen nipple. He tore his mouth from her breast. She gasped. His hands touching pleasure points as he leisurely slid her shift from her. Naked now before him, his eyes expressed his desires. An unbelievable ache filled her down there, her nipples rising in response. Claire licked her lips. He might be the Black Devil, but he was her husband. And he had every right to make love to her, just as she had every right to receive him.

Their mouths meshed in a fiery web of passion, Claire clung to him, giving free rein to her own hunger. It was the purity of a spring awakening, and the ache of absolution all merged into one. Claire closed her eyes, writhing and then his body came down to spread her thighs, and she cared about nothing except the heated iron that entered her. She arched toward him unconsciously unleashing a rousing melting sweetness. Her hands involuntarily reached to his lower back, the heat of his flesh hot and tingling beneath her fingertips. He pulled back and stared at her, raw tension in his eyes. She protested when he stopped, feeling cool air brush her wanting body, she looked at him questioningly.

“Your maidenhood,” he rasped. “We did not complete last time. It will only hurt for a second.” He plunged into her, filling her completely this time. Claire cried out, scrambling away. He stopped, holding her pinned to the ground, his forehead touching hers, his breath fanning her cheek.

She heard the tender agony in his restraint. “It will hurt no more.” He moved on her then slowly, rhythmically, and she edged around the feel of his manhood. He must have sensed the awakening flames in her, surrendering completely, humbly draining all doubts and fears. A tremor inside her thighs and groin vibrated with liquid fire.

She clawed into his backsides, grasping for an elusive flame, and this time with her heart beating for the man she loved.

He plunged. She melted around him. He thrust hard and fast. She screamed in her climax, reached before him, continuing after him, exploding in a downpour of fiery sensations so intense she nearly fainted.

Lying as entwined lovers they drifted off to sleep. She was floating in languid contentment when she felt him place something between her breasts. She opened her eyes to see a scarlet hibiscus and reached up with her palm to caress his handsome face.

She felt alive for the first time in her life. Felt, in fact, as though she could control her own fate. Now that she was loved she experienced an innate freedom from the chains of abandonment that for years restrained her. She was edged with emotions so raw, so beautiful, she’d wanted to weep with joy. Despite what the future held, Claire held no regrets.

Her only distress was for his safety. She shoved it from her mind.

For this moment in time, on this idyllic Paradise, Claire decided nothing would come between them. She would make the most of any time they shared. She would enjoy the man and the stolen days to follow. She would discover what she could about him, learning every detail.

So thinking, Claire let her fingers trail down his face, loving the hard chiseled angles, amazed by its symmetry. Devon roused himself, and sat up. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, dipped it into the water then spread her legs apart.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning my seed and your blood from your thighs.”

“It’s not decent.”

“I’ll determine, my darling what is decent and not decent,” he smiled wickedly. He spread her thighs and bent over her.

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

He laughed, sweeping her into the circle of his arms. She didn’t struggle and was startled to see the tenderness in his eyes when they touched hers. There was still amusement within them, but it was a gentle humor now. His eyes had never seemed so green, so like the sea. His hair was tousled and a rakish black lock fell over his forehead. She tried to imagine the youth he must have been. Yet now he was a pirate, leader of pirates, cast into a world of battles and struggle for power. He had grown powerful, so powerful everyone feared him. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She should be on a ship running in the opposite direction. She was hopelessly entangled, with no way out. And the worst of it was she no longer wanted a way out. In his arms, something wondrous happened.

Safe. Sound. Secure.

He captured her lips and they made love a million different ways. .

Claire rose from slumber and slipped from his arms. Too late. He grabbed her, and growled when she eluded him. Claire dove into the lagoon. “I dare you to come in,” she laughed, splashing water on him. He dove in and surfaced behind her. She did not imagine his controlled blaze of desire. She had no doubts at all. Impishly she turned to swim out of his reach but he caught her ankle in his hand, grabbing her knee then her thigh. He brushed the sensitive skin at the inner curve with his lips.

Claire gasped, “That’s not fair.”

“Pirates don’t have to play fair.”

He dragged her to shore and kissed her long and thoroughly. “I should teach you a lesson my vixen, but the sun’s gone long in the day.” He glanced at the sky. “While we’ve still light, I’ve something to show you.”

They dressed, and he helped her with her buttons. He took her hand. She turned her palm up and gently curled her fingers about his. He led her to the sister waterfall. When she looked confused, he grinned and urged her on. They picked over a rocky ledge then edged behind a curtain of cascading water. Sun filtered through the veil of water. He turned her to face a small cave, and there before her eyes laid an incredible sight. Claire stared at piles of gold, silver, and jewels. She had been swimming here for days and never dreamed it existed.

“There is the wealth of twenty kings here,” she whispered.

“This is all yours.”

Claire stood speechless. He picked up a strand of pearls and placed them in her hand then grasped a fistful of gold pieces letting them fall through his fingers.

“I was alone, considered the worst of criminals, a man condemned to die, and in stepped a beautiful woman, and I−a filthy wretch, had nothing to give, but my name and heart. In my darkest hour, I awaited execution. I could not believe my luck when the King decreed to save my neck for his greed. Nor could I fathom when fate brought me a half-world away and my eyes beheld you. Because I was half out of my mind with loving you, but terrified of the depths of my feelings.” He shook his head. “You were ever present in my mind, Claire, my biggest obstacle, knowing that to survive by picking up piracy, I would earn your scorn. I compromised, keeping your purifying influence alive in my memory, vowing to keep my hands as clean as possible in the unfortunate trade I embarked, and always maintaining the elusive hope of ever seeing you again. Everything I have done, and all that I have, and all that I am, is for you.”

“Don’t you understand, it’s not about the riches. It’s about you, Devon. All of this means nothing as long as I have you. I love you.” She dropped the pearls into the chest. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Ah Claire, how long I’ve wished to hear those very words from your lips.

Two weeks passed when Claire accompanied Devon to the Sea Scorpion, the great ship pulled on log rollers up the beach, her great hull fully exposed. The men were employed burning and scraping off barnacles and weeds before the carpenters could get to work at caulking the seams, then tarring, and greasing the keel. It was a long arduous process Devon explained, exercising the skills of his men. Areas damaged by the ramming of the Mer Un Serpent had been repaired. Some of the crew hailed their Captain, while cleaning the ship from top to bottom, patching sails and sewing new ones. Devon held Claire beside him, an intimacy carelessly displayed in front of his crew. Claire blushed, thinking of the long erotic nights spent with Devon, the wild abandon fresh in her mind and between her thighs. Claire blushed again. Did his crew guess they were sleeping together?

Looking over his shoulder to the grinning men, giving knowing winks to one another added to her discomfort, and her face heated further. “Devon, we must leave at once. Your men think I am a strumpet. I believe we must be more circumspect.” She moved away from him.

He laughed at her look of alarm and took her in his arms. “It’s a small island. Let them figure it out. Faith, we’ll help them, so there will be no mistakes.” He climbed up on the ratlines, balancing with one arm and one leg hooked to the netting. “Come about lads,” Devon urged. “I’ve an announcement to make.”

Claire shot him a desperate glance, but Devon didn’t see it. He gazed steadily as his men gathered from their labors. Even in her state of embarrassment, Claire sensed a force that communicated to all. The crowd grew silent and riveted their eyes on him. His deep Irish voice rang out over the beach and bay, carrying with it the power and force of a thunderclap.

See that beautiful woman down there?” he pointed to Claire and her mouth dropped open. “She is my wife!”

A round of tumultuous cheers went up.

“As your Captain, whatever oath of allegiance you have sworn to me, is sworn to her as well. What service you render to me is rendered to her as well. Your loyalty will be marked to her as you’ve done with me.”

Another round of cheers went up. Claire, reeling by Devon’s incredible declaration, forced herself to pull her gaze from his broad shoulders and look about her with dawning awe. All around her stood his crew, grinning and smiling, coming forth with hearty congratulations for both of them.

At the first possible moment, Devon whisked her aside. “For now, Madame Blackmon, I am ravenous and my immediate needs demand to be supplied.”

Claire’s eyes grew large in anticipation, forgetting the grinning sailors. They left the ship and landed on the shore when Dooley, his shipwright presented Devon with a progress report. Despite Devon’s scowl not to be delayed, the little man remained tenacious. “The Golden Gull is being brought around from stem to stern, Captain in Crab Bay. She’s an ancient and bloody sight, but I’ll wager a shillin’ to a maiden’ead she’ll hold together when I’m through with her. Aye, by tomorrow.”

“Good job, Dooley,” Devon said impatiently moving away and pulling Claire at such a fast clip she had to run to keep up. Dooley ran alongside, holding his hat to this head. “But Captain Sir, don’t you want a report on the Mer Un Serpent?”

That stopped Devon, and Claire ran into him, his full wrath pinned on Dooley. “Didn’t I command Le Trompeur no more than ten days?”

“Yes sir,” said Dooley. “But he said he needed two more. That’s why I thought I’d be asking you, Captain. I don’t like it. Never did like the smell of the French.”

“Neither do I, Dooley. Why wasn’t I told about this before?”

“Beggin ye’re pardon sir,” Dooley looked sheepishly to Claire and turned a bright red, “You’ve been unavailable until now.”

“Get Ames and Bloodsmythe and enough good men to convince our uninvited guest to remove himself. I don’t care if the Mer Un Serpent sinks a mile from shore. I want it a thousand leagues from Paradise.”

“Yes sir. Right away sir.” Dooley spun on his heel and left.

Devon grabbed her hand and traversed to the house. “You’re not to leave my side until the Mer Un Serpent is far away from here. Do you understand?” He was more than agitated by the news.

“Yes sir. Right away, Captain,” Claire mimicked, saluting him with a playful smile. He looked at her sharply then saw she was teasing him.

“I could drag you into the forest−” he threatened.

Claire tore her hand from his grasp and ran ahead, turned, walking backward, she challenged him. “You could try−”

“I find myself starved if I don’t see you at least a dozen times a day,” Devon said, his hands clasped behind his back as he stalked her. A predatory gleam shone in Devon’s eyes. She held her hand up to ward him off. Her stomach fluttered and her breath quickened.

“You are more beautiful today than I ever remember you.” His eyes sparked wickedly.

Her body clenched on itself in direct, hungry reaction to his words, and the worst part of it was that he knew it. “You are a devil.”

“So why bother saving my immortal soul? I plan to show you more, a continuation of what we’ve enjoyed. To enjoy your body to the fullest. Yet I warn you, there are risks. You might hunger for that pleasure too much. It might lead to boldness.”

“You are very sure of your skills.” She pulled up her hair on top of her head, posturing in such a way as to kindle a fire in him, yet his words suggested a purely sensual experience.

He drew her close and brushed his lips over hers. Claire pushed him away, unbalancing him. He grabbed for her, intent on administering suitable punishment, but Claire outmaneuvered him, giggling as she picked up her skirts and dashed toward the house. Devon followed on her heels. Breathless, she dodged him in the library and scrambled into the dining room, looking for a place to hide. She screamed when his warm breath warned her of his closeness. Too late. He scooped her up in his strong arms, snatching her in his embrace. “You’ll pay for that, Claire.

“Mercy. I but a poor maid caught by a ruthless brigand,” Claire cried between helpless peals of laughter.

“Never.” Devon growled with mock ferocity and bore her to the table and laid her there. He threw up her skirts. In a froth of petticoats her slim white thighs were exposed for his perusal.

“You must stop this at once, Devon. This behavior is unseemly.” Although she didn’t really want him to stop. “What if Lily and Robert walk in?”

“I’ll remember your sly tactics to avoid the inevitable. In terms of Robert and Lily−those two are engaged in such bliss that their first child is undoubtedly rooted. Which reminds me, it’s time we created one of our own.” He unbuttoned his pants. How did he arouse so quickly? His swollen manhood stood hard, pulsing and seeking, a sword ready to thrust.

Claire sat up. “It isn’t proper. The sun is up. What if someone should happen upon us?”

“For the past two days, you’ve been unconcerned about the daylight. The servants, I’ve ordered out until dinner time and that’s the only time they’re allowed here,” he grinned wickedly.

“I fear for my virtue.” She sighed.

“Liar,” he chided, his hands shooting out to push her down on the table. “You’re my wife, I mean to take advantage of the fact, when you want it, and I want it.”

He slid his hands under her buttocks, cupping them and pulling her close to the edge. Claire had wantonly taken to not wearing undergarments for Devon’s insatiable appetite left her not knowing when he would take her next. On the beach under the stars, at the waterfalls, amidst a bed of soft forest ferns, shamelessly in his cabin on board his ship while his crew worked up above. She could not get enough of him. Her body melted in sensuality as her naked limbs were exposed to his hungry view. He bent her knees up, gently kissing one then the other. The blazing desire in his eyes stoked a burning fire, her hot scent warm and wet swirled, his nostrils flared, luring him and building her arousal in the most primitive way. A soft gasp caught within her throat when he thrust inside her. He gripped her bottom and slammed into her and within seconds, she moved with him, liquid, hot, intoxicating, exciting, her body gloving his...

Her fingers clutched at the edges of the table. Her body strained wildly and gave, allowing free rein to his passions, the relentless driving force of his body pulling her hard back upon him. And still it wasn’t enough. Suddenly, she felt as if she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning, shattering in a million brilliant shards of light. He thrust, once, twice, and then spilled his seed into her, liquid and warm, the smell of his sex deliciously, permeating the air. She marveled, the warm sweet-tasting ecstasy pulsing into her.

Spent, he collapsed upon her, Claire taking his full weight, wrapping her legs and arms protectively around him, cradling his head upon her chest. In time, he rose and carried her upstairs, made love to her again then dozed and laid the day to waste, luxuriating in bed.

Until she faced Devon leaving, she would live from day to day, enjoying the simplest pleasures, savoring her newfound appreciation of life. A fragile happiness she prayed would not be shattered and taken by events beyond her control. This she vowed. She snuggled up to him and drifted off to sleep.

“What do you want?” Le Trompeur growled under a sickle moon. “If Captain Blackmon learns of my communication with you−”

“We need you to help us escape.” Jarvis gripped the bars of his prison.

“You squander my time on stupidity!” Le Trompeur’s spittle flew through the bars.

“Hear us out. We have a proposal that I’m sure will interest you. A quid pro quo arrangement,” Jarvis smoothly suggested.

“What can you possibly offer me of value, locked in a jail?”

“A ransom for myself and Sir Teakle.”

Le Trompeur huffed. “Fools. I must be gone by tomorrow. To think I crossed this island in the middle of the night for nothing. I should slit your throats.”

“Hear me out,” said Sir Jarvis, inspired with his own cleverness. “There is enmity between you and the Black Devil. I can give you vital information on him. He was a slave on my plantation. I know his Achilles heel. In fact, I can give you something very dear to him. How would you like to be a marionette, pulling all his strings?”

Le Trompeur leaned against the grill work. “You have my interest.”

He held her securely in his arms, dreams of this haunting him forever now real. He had never begun to imagine the magic that he could feel, and if he feared of anything, he was afraid that he might never come to a place in his life again when he could know such sweet and soaring pleasure. His wife slept against him naked, her hair splayed over him, her slim white hand upon his bronzed chest. A fierce tension seized hold of him. He had not imagined that any woman could create such a desire within him, could arouse such passions, such a deep tempest.

She shifted slightly, then realized he was awake. She turned slowly in his arms and her eyes widened, grasping he’d been awake for some time, studying her. She searched his face, her eyes golden splendor in the silvery sheen. A look of longing held in her gaze, a longing as deep and as keen as the one hungering in his chest.

Devon moved a strand of her hair away from where it cloaked her breast. She moved her arms about him, beckoning him closer to her as they lay on his bed. Her scent and heat surrounded him like a sensual miasma. The magic and memory of this night swirled a potent brew that would drown him in heady passion. He rolled atop her into the white slant of the moon’s glow.

She wasn’t wondering at his thoughts anymore−his body tensed and tightened, felt the cup of his hand upon her cheek, and before she could speak, he kissed her, forcefully, seductively, denying any chance of protest. In response, she weaved her soft arms about his neck, splaying her fingers down his shoulders and back. He liked her free response, moving her hands everywhere to pleasure him.

A hand upon his chest, she pushed him back to his elbows. She leaned over him, her hair veiling them in a canopy of silk.

“Hungry?” she teased.

“Starving.”

When her lips met his, he needed no urging to part his own. Her soft breasts pushed into his chest. When he entered her, her eyes closed and he saw the soft sweep of her lashes and heard the soft pleading moans as she cried out for him in a sweet pinnacle of release.

How much more entranced could he be? Devon exhaled and glanced at the sky framed through the doors. Night still lingered in the west where the dark purple strip was studded with stars, but eastward the upper lobe of the sun peeked over the horizon. From now on, with his wife sleeping next to him, he would love to see the sun come up over the horizon and spread across the water.

Claire had always been his and their lay a certain male satisfaction of pride in that fact. She was his wife in every word and deed. The vows were spoken, and consummated. In fact, the way they couldn’t get enough of each other, it would not be long before she came to him and announced she would have their child. His child. The belief and joy of that occurrence lie beyond his wildest imagination. All her barriers of fear had faded away, and now she embraced him with a delight that filled him with a tenderness so deep he ached inside.

Then why this bothersome doubt that ran frigid along his spine?

He didn’t know, nor did he care. He curled against her, holding the woman he cherished tight against him.

Claire opened the small makeshift jail. She detested this errand and hated going against Devon’s orders to stay strictly in the house. But Cookie who normally took the prisoners their food had begged this one small favor. Bloodsmythe had planned a special outing. Cookie was walking on clouds with the expectation of a proposal. Who was she to stop Cupid’s arrow?

Claire shoved open the door of the prison, a small building cordoned off into two parts that included a barred cell. Her uncle blinked, the wavering sunlight made him appear more inhuman than ever. He wore no wig, and his bald pate had the luminescent quality of a cadaver. Sir Teakle, his silk and lace filthy and drooping fared no better.

“It’s my dearest niece come to feed us,” Jarvis sneered. “The world would call you a fool to keep company with a devil like that.”

“I would think in your current state, you’d be appreciative of the kindness given to you by Devon. I remember how well you treated him.”

“You throw away a chance to be a countess?” Sir Teakle snorted, his huge bulk winnowed down from his incarceration. “But you’re not the sort to put great store in rank and coronet.”

“Never would I desire to be your wife. You are as contemptible as my uncle.” Claire moved into the cell, eager to deposit the food and leave to seek out her husband.

“You think I know nothing?” Jarvis spat. “He’s a damned pirate, a cut-throat villain. I’ve known plenty, and they never change. It’s in his blood. He’ll have many women besides you. Would you be happy when he tires of you, to be cast aside? He only has the hangman’s noose awaiting him and disgrace for you.”

Claire seethed. “I will not listen to you disparage Devon. He is kind and noble, far from what you could claim for yourself. Never will I be in your power again. I love Devon and will never leave him.”

“So you play the whore with that pirate thief.”

That comment jerked her to attention, and she laughed in Jarvis’s face. “I am his wife!”

“His wife?” Jarvis exploded. “You think you are so smart. I’ll have you know that I plotted to have your family killed. Paid a heavy sum to have my brother’s carriage sabotaged, the wheel breaking precisely, rounding a bend, casting you, and your mother and father over a cliff. That’s right. I killed your father and mother. My entire life, I hated my brother and everything he represented. He had the beautiful wife, family, success in everything he accomplished. I was the poor younger brother with nothing, always in his shadow, and I hated him for it. Yet his brat survived. I couldn’t wait to throw you out. I burned the will that left the majority of assets to you and seized everything for myself,” he laughed. “You even own the plantation in Jamaica.”

Numb with shock, Claire inched to the door. The demonic gleam in Jarvis’s eye rattled up her spine. He was mad. She moved to the door. “You paid to have my father and mother killed?” Claire reeled from the revelation. A warning voice nagged her. “Where is the guard?” She barely uttered the words when Sir Teakle grabbed her from behind. “How dare you do this on Devon’s island? You’re fools. You have no place to escape. Devon will hunt you down.” She opened her mouth to scream. Filthy lace was thrust into her mouth. Claire gagged. She fought and bucked. With her free hand, she swung and hit Teakle in the eye. He swore. Her uncle pressed a knife at her throat and she stilled.

“Now my lovely,” Teakle breathed into her ear. “You will do exactly as we say.” He laughed, his voice stayed absolutely emotionless and it chilled her. She kicked at him. He wrenched her arms behind her and tied her hands.

“That’s better,” her uncle said. “You have been nothing but a bitch that needs to learn obedience. I’ve made an arrangement for our freedom. To think I can exchange the treasure dearest to the Black Devil.”

He flung her out the door. Claire stumbled over the guard. Young Johnnie lay bound and still. A large red lump swelled on the side of his head. Was he dead? Jarvis kicked him and he moaned. Claire closed her eyes, thankful he was alive.

“We’ve no time to waste,” said Teakle, nursing his eye.

“I should have had the Black Devil whipped to death when he was a slave under my thumb. But I think this plan is better. It will eat at him like acid, his wife vanishing with no trace of her footsteps. Le Trompeur will be getting a bigger prize. The wife of the Black Devil.”

Claire froze. The desperate reality of her situation came clear. She fought like a demon. She fell and he yanked her to her feet.

“It is useless to fight my dear. You will suffer at the hands of the French pirate.” He shoved her through dense foliage. Jarvis navigated a route far from the village and notice of Devon’s men. “I relish the fact that he is not kind to women. With great pleasure, I can get even with the Black Devil, and have the satisfaction of trumping my dead brother.”

On the beach, the black spines of the Mer Un Serpent lay silhouetted against a brilliant sky. She was picked up and tossed into a waiting boat. The rapid thrust of oars lapped against the water.

Le Trompeur was the first to greet her. “Mademoiselle, an honor to see you, again.”

Like a beached whale, Jarvis hefted his body on the deck eager to tell Le Trompeur his good fortune. “She is not Mademoiselle. She is the Black Devil’s wife.”

“His wife?”

The pirate’s pupils dilated enough for Claire to glimpse a flicker of insecurity. He circled her. “Untie Madame Blackmon’s hands.”

“He will hunt you down for taking me.”

He tapped a fingernail beneath her chin. “His ship remains in dry-dock. I will be days away before he is finished with repairs.”

“Devon will find you. This I promise.”

Le Trompeur raised his eyebrows. “So much boldness. I do not think you are as confident as you pretend. As I covet gold, I covet the wife of the Black Devil. You will perform for me the same as you do for him.”

“I will not let you touch me.”

He coiled a mass of her hair tight to his fingers and yanked her face inches before his own. “We are at an impasse. I do remember your dangerous feet. A lesson must be learned. I want you begging.” He jerked his head to his men. “Tie her to the mast. No water or food comes to her mouth except by my hand.”

Ropes were bound around her. The crew snickered. Jarvis and Teakle jeered. The sails were let out. A brisk breeze propelled them out to sea. Abandoned to the horrors of Le Trompeur, her vision blurred as the shore of Paradise grew distant, the tree line shrunk to a stripe of green until the island disappeared into an ocean of blue. If only she could see Devon one more time.

Devon sprinted from the shipyard. Claire was to meet him at noon. She was never late. No one was at the house. He checked the lagoon. Flawed reasoning suggested she visited with Jenny and had forgotten the time. Bloodsmythe and Cookie walked hand and hand toward him. “Have you seen Claire?”

Cookie shrugged. “This morning I gave her victuals to deliver to her uncle and Sir Teakle. I have not seen her since.”

His legs broke out into a run. Bloodsmythe shouted after him. Why didn’t he throw Jarvis and Teakle overboard? He reached the makeshift jail to find the door banging open and left unguarded. He would skewer Johnnie for abandoning his post. A whimper to the rear of the jail raised the hackles on his neck. Johnnie lay trussed like a sausage, a lump the size of a hen’s egg bulged on his forehead. He drew a knife from his belt and cut the boy’s gag and binds.

“Where is she?”

“Jarvis and Teakle are trading her for their freedom by selling her to Le Trompeur. They left hours ago.”

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. The great danger Claire found herself was born a result of his negligence. No chance Le Trompeur was still around. He would have left as soon as he had her. Images of what that French son of a bitch would do to Claire flashed through his mind. He raced to the boatyard. “Get the Sea Scorpion and Golden Gull ready to sail. Now.”

Dooley turned to see if he’d lost his senses. The Sea Scorpion was hauled up on rollers on the beach ready to be tarred.

Johnnie pulled up short and placed his hands on his knees, his head bowed in gulping breaths. “There’s more, Captain Blackmon. Jarvis told Claire how he hated his brother and paid to have her family killed to get the family’s wealth.”

Bloodsmythe huffed beside him and Cookie clucked. “My dear baby. I knew Jarvis was not to be trusted. I never conceived he murdered Claire’s parents.”

Dooley shook his head. “Six days before we’re ready, sir.”

“Le Trompeur has my wife! Every single man must work around the clock.”

Cookie flapped to the keel of the boat and picked up a bucket of hot tar. “I can wield a brush as well as anyone. We have to save Claire.”

For two days she had baked in the torrid endless sun. Her lips were parched and her skin prickled where burned. Her hair a mass of knots flew about her face and shoulders. She slumped against the ropes and dozed. Sleep was impossible, the discomfort of standing up. At night, she shivered from the wind. Once per day, Le Trompeur gave her water and vulgar suggestions.

The pirates darted lewd glances. They stayed away. Did they fear the Black Devil?

Ropes were untied and she sagged to the deck. Coarse hands lifted her to a small room and bolt slid into place. Would this be where he would rape her? Too weary to think, she lay on the cot thankful from the respite from the sun and sank into a deep sleep. Claire slammed to the floor. The floor pitched high again then dropped into a deep trench. The crack of lightening and roll of thunder and men screaming curses belted above her head. Claire crawled onto the cot and clung for hours. Her arms ached. Would they survive the storm? Water seeped across the floor. Were they sinking? Was this to be her watery grave?

Shaken awake Claire was dragged from darkness up on to a sun splashed deck to be tied to the mast. If only she had a drink of water. Her practical nature had taken over. She refused to wallow in self-pity. That was how one survived the unthinkable. Half way through the day a shadow loomed. Fish oil permeated the air.

“Madame Blackmon?” Le Trompeur offered her a flagon.

Claire raised her head and drank. The flagon lifted. “More,” she pleaded.

“Have you learned to beg?”

“Never will I bend to you,” she rasped.

A cannon blast hit the air. Le Trompeur jerked to starboard.

“French naval ships,” a sailor called from the crow’s nest.

“We have visitors. Run up the French flag,” Le Trompeur ordered.

French naval ships held a straight course. A towering warship came side by side to the Mer Un Serpent. A boat rowed between. Dignitaries boarded and Le Trompeur performed an elegant grand host, exhibiting his most sophisticated manners. He bowed to the decorated officer with the white plumed hat. Claire’s fluency in French helped her translate their agreement, an alliance between the pirates and the French navy−to attack the English bastards and send them to hell. War had broken out between the two countries and she was in the middle.

“Who is this woman?” The rotund officer with the white plumed hat plowed through the pirates to inspect her.

Claire raised her head and shook her hair clear of her eyes. “I am Madame Blackmon, the Black Devil’s wife.”

“Sacre Coeur. What madness is this you wreak, Le Trompeur?” His rapid French matched his wild pacing. “We do not want any trouble from her husband and now you have kidnapped his wife?”

Le Trompeur’s face reddened. “She is mine to do with as I please.”

The French admiral jabbed his finger into Le Trompeur’s chest. “This is a diplomatic nightmare. I order you to release her at once, and I forbid you to go anywhere near her. She will be conveyed to my ship. If the Black Devil does not align with us, I will have you executed.”

Le Trompeur stood on the deck of the Mer Un Serpent, his fingers flexed over the pummel of his sword. Claire was unbound and rowed to the French Admiral’s ship. Treated with deference, a small cabin was provided. She stuffed down food from a tray and drank from a pitcher of water. She closed her eyes, the nourishment a balm. After a bath, she spread salve on her burned skin. She sighed, to stay in the comfort of the cabin. If there was any hope of escape she must observe the direction they sailed. A fresh gown belonging to the admiral’s wife hung on the wall. Cannons thundered. Her hands shook, buttoning the back of the dress. She scrambled topside.

Her eyes scanned eastward. The Mer Un Serpent engaged in battle with a British Man O’ War. Her countrymen had been crippled by the same storm they had survived and lay an easy target for the French pirates. Her hands gripped her throat. They would sink to the bottom of the sea. She turned and the French Admiral caught her eye.

“All’s fair in love and war, oui, Madame Blackmon?”